


My Compliments, Ma'am.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Sharpe (TV), Sharpe - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Community: contrelamontre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-18
Updated: 2003-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Harper's duty to watch his officer's back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Compliments, Ma'am.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the contrelamontre 60 minute show-not-tell jealousy challenge.
> 
> Spoilers: Up to and including Sharpe's Enemy, with references to Siege.

Mr. Sharpe has always been a conscientious man, if you know what I mean. He don't like things out of the ordinary. Give him a good battle, a good brandy, and a good night and he's fine. But throw something strange at him, like a woman, and he gets all flummoxed and such. Miss Theresa was the only one of 'em who could handle him, and she understood things that go on in camps when the wives have been left behind and battle's coming.

But this Hakeswill, talking about Mr. Sharpe like that, always got to me. Like they had been lovers once. Mr. Sharpe always has denied it, but he'll deny anything under the sun, if you catch my meaning. Hell, if you come up from the ranks, it's the only way to be promoted above quartermaster. But Oh-ba-di-ah here was Mr. Sharpe's livin' hell. It's not right, it isn't, talking about Mr. Sharpe like he still was his. He's not. He's mine.

And Josephina now, that just wasn't right. She had no right showing herself off to Mr. Sharpe like that. Just because the Major once took a turn inside her sheets doesn't give her a right. Bastard Hakeswill was talking to the Frenchman's lady, not her. Just wanted to show off to my officer. It's not right.

Why do they all want him? Hakeswill, Miss Theresa, Josephina, and even Nosey himself they say. God save Ireland, but that's a lot of people. And all those bloody Exploring Officers always hanging about him, expecting him to solve all their problems. He's only a man, and to them a tool, and they just want to use him and discard him. None of them would follow him anywhere, with a cup of tea for him when he needs it. Oil his rifle for him while he slept, take a needle to his uniform so he'll be presentable when he meets the next officer to come in, use him, and leave. Thank the Father that the bastard Simmerson had only liked women. Mr. Sharpe might have had to break his one rule, to never sleep with a flogger. Not that Simmerson would have appreciated it. Bugger interested in only two things: pain, and money. Would never be satisfied unless he had both. 'Lot like Hakeswill. Would never appreciate Mr. Sharpe. Wouldn't understand what he does for England, for those bastards up in Horse Guards, understands what he does daily when he kills French. Wouldn't understand when he almost cries in the middle of a battle, not from the smoke, but from the waste, since the land's been taken back and forth. Though I only saw him cry once, and that was when Miss Theresa died. Bloody Hakeswill. Wish the proctors'd let me kill him. That would've made Mr. Sharpe feel better.

They say that it was the Prince Regent who made him Major. Some of the lads are snickering when Mr. Sharpe had time to go to London and bugger Prinny in between Talavera and Adrados. They make bets on which officer will fall to Mr. Sharpe next, giving him more standing in the politics that goes on among officers. The lads call Mr. Sharpe a predator, but they all wish he'd notice *them* enough to take them to his bed. No, Mr. Sharpe goes only for the high class, for people who can do things for him. Paid in promotion and favors in missions, front line jobs. The lads all wish he would take them. But he won't. Oh, the major likes the troops well enough, but he's been there and isn't going back again. Not if he has anything to say about it, not while I do neither. Wage war on Ireland before I let any soldier but me touch him.

But I can't compete with officers and he knows it, and I knows it, and even Perkins lad knows it, when Cooper offers me into the betting of the night. Lawford was obvious, Mr. Sharpe had been the Colonel's first, and Windham was, too. And we all knew Nosey'd call him into the strategy tent long after propriety, but he was always out soon enough, wanting a cup of tea and a warm bed. Mr. Sharpe's always hated tents.

He always let me on top, but I know he lets Nosey there, too, and even Major Hogan. Only Irishmen, I'd say, but there's whispers that Ross was up there, too. And Captain Murray, but he's long dead. My first, though I don't tell nobody that.

And Mr. Sharpe's good enough to be anybody's first. He wasn't Miss Theresa's first, but that was fine, since he was close enough. And the way he looked when with her was grand. He saved that smile only fer her. I never got it. And neither did Josephina, Lady Farthingdale. Lord Farthingdale, but my major had *him*, just like he had his whore. Wonder if that high falooty knows his wife is a rifle that all the Chosen Men have fired.

And that wasn't very fair of Josephina, going and getting herself captured just so Major Sharpe would risk his life for her. A life I've saved enough times and cradled and cherished and tried to teach Gaelic.

And he looked at her and then touched her. Should have just left her in her shame. Wasn't like she's never been fondled before. She'd get over it. Didn't need my major lacing her up and sending her back with a pat on her arse. And then spending the night with her later, while I guarded the door. Whores need to learn silence, and just what was she doing to Mr. Sharpe in there? He walked out bleeding. He _never_ lets me do that. Best he'll do is let me tend to them and sing to him about the three lovely lassies from Kimmage1, though I call it Lisbon since he's a heathen Englishmen and wouldn't know Donegal from Dublin. But I don't know Essex from Middlesex, so I suppose that's fair. 'Course we Irish don't seem to have sex on the mind as much as the damned English. Everything seems to end in sex in England. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Mr. Sharpe is rarely around as it is.

And he don't need whores like Josephina cutting into his time with his troops. Or with me. He don't. So Josephina better go on her way with her fop and not come crying back again to my officer. He doesn't need a strip show from anyone but me.

 

1 When doing a search for the song Harper sings at the beginning of _Eagle_, I found a song about three lovely lassies from Kimmage, and nothing about Lisbon. I deduced from there that they probably either changed the song, or I was an idiot. And being as the former went with the fic, I used it. Though I could possibly also be an idiot. The two aren't mutually exclusive.


End file.
